Heart memory
by the local knicker merchant
Summary: It's late 2019, Carla and Peter are happily set up in their new flat, when a freak accident threatens their future and their past.
1. Chapter 1

Carla, stunned, black dots swimming across her eyes, blinked furiously as she stared up at the sky, the sunlight temporarily blocked by two people staring back down at her. She tried to lift her head, to raise her body off the ground, but then the dizziness came, and the nausea. She sank back down to the ground and closed her eyes.

"Carla?"

A voice she knew so well, full of care and concern.

"Chelle?" Carla croaked out her best friend's name, opening her eyes again and squinting up at this face she'd known and loved since childhood.

"Carla? Are you okay?"

"What happened?"

What had happened? Carla racked her brain, desperately trying to understand why she was lying on the ground, a searing pain causing her head to throb in agony.

"Some scaffolding fell from the factory," Michelle explained. "It hit you on the head."

"The factory?" What on earth was Michelle talking about?

"I think we should get you checked out by a doctor," Michelle reiterated, before glancing up at the other person stood over Carla; a strange man, a bystander. "Should we call an ambulance?"

"I'll be fine, Chelle. Besides, I don't want to be late."

"Can you sit up?" The man placed a hand gently on her shoulder.

"I'm fine." Carla glared up at him and shook off his hand. With a colossal effort, all the while rebuffing any attempts to assist her, Carla struggled into a sitting position.

"Come on, love," he took hold of her hand as if to pull her to her feet.

"Thanks very much for your help, but I'm fine now."

"Umm, darlin', I don't think you are." Michelle spoke with some hesitation, knowing how much Carla hated to be contradicted. "I think we need to get you to a doctor."

"Well, I disagree," Carla was adamant. "I don't want to keep him waiting."

"Keep who waiting?" Michelle was confused.

Carla laughed incredulously. "Anyone would think you're the one who got a knock to the head. Paul. Your brother, Paul. I'm marrying him today. In… what's the time?" Carla looked at her wristwatch. "In two hours! We need to get a move on!"

"I really think you need to see a doctor, Car."

"I'll see one after the wedding." Carla's tone had changed; she was getting impatient, angry even. "Has your mother been in your ear again? Spouting her venom, saying I'm not good enough to marry her precious son?"

"That's not it."

"Then tell me!" Carla demanded. "Chelle? Please."

"I, umm…"

"It's not Paul, is it? Has _he_ changed his mind? He doesn't want to marry me anymore, is that it?"

"Please, Car, just come with me to the medical centre."

"No," Carla dug her heels in. "Not until you tell me what's going on."

"Paul, umm… I'm sorry, darlin'. Don't you remember? Paul died."

"What? No! When? I don't…"

Carla stared at Michelle in shock; disbelief.

"Twelve years ago."

"That's not funny, Chelle."

"It's not a joke."

"But… I don't understand."

Carla dropped her head, still throbbing, to her knees, trying to grasp what Michelle was telling her. Twelve years? Twelve years ago she was…she was only twelve years old! How could…?

"I really think you need to get checked out by a doctor."

Carla peered up at Michelle.

"Twelve years. What's the date? Today. What year is it?"

Michelle hesitated, scared of how Carla would react if she knew the truth.

"Michelle!" Carla barked her name, demanding an answer.

"Twenty-nineteen."

"Twenty. Nineteen…?"

"I'm sorry."

Carla glanced at the strange man who hadn't moved after Carla had rebuffed him, but had stood his ground, watching the two women.

"Who's he?" Carla whispered to Michelle.

"That's Peter," Michelle informed Carla, smiling nervously. "Peter is, umm… he's your boyfriend."

Carla looked at Peter, a stranger to her, in confusion, before turning back to Michelle.

"He's my…?"

Michelle nodded her affirmation.

"And Paul…?"

"I'm so sorry."

"Okay…" Carla sighed loudly, trying to decide her next move. "Where's Liam? Can I talk to Liam?"

"Oh god…"

"Chelle?"

"Liam… He's, umm… Liam died as well."

Carla stared up at Michelle. This wasn't happening; she must be dreaming. No, not a dream, this was a nightmare. She fell forward onto her hands and knees and, pushing herself off the ground, struggled to her feet. Michelle reached out to help her, but Carla pushed her away.

"Get off me!"

"Car…" Michelle didn't know what to say; what could she say to the woman who'd just discovered she'd lost the two men she loved most in the world, even if those losses were over a decade old.

Carla hoped with all her heart that Michelle was playing some sick, cruel joke on her; that she'd burst into laughter and yell 'Gotcha!'. Then they'd go to the church, she and Paul would get married and they'd live happily ever after. That was the plan. That had to be the plan.

But it slowly dawned on her as she stared at Michelle, praying for the joke to be revealed, that this wasn't the same Michelle she knew in her youth. Her eyes traced the lines on her best friend's face; evidence of a life lived, not one about to begin. And then Carla looked into Michelle's eyes and she knew the truth.

Carla turned, the tears now brimming over and spilling down her cheeks, and ran.

* * *

"Yes, Peter," Michelle had her mobile pressed up to her ear while her hands were busy preparing drinks behind the bar of the Bistro. "I'll call you if I hear anything. Try not to worry, okay? You know Carla, she just needs some space to sort her head out… I'll talk to you later."

Michelle ended the call with a sigh, her brow furrowed with more concern for her best friend's wellbeing than she'd let on to Peter.

"Oh, Car," she muttered to herself. "Where are you?"

"Umm…"

Michelle looked up; it was Carla, standing with a sheepish grin on her face, staring at her from the other side of the bar.

"I know, I've got great timing."

Michelle burst into spontaneous and slightly hysterical laughter at the unexpected sight that had appeared as if by magic before her.

"Chelle? Are you okay?"

"I'm sorry," Michelle subdued her laughter long enough to walk to the other side of the bar and wrap her arms around Carla, pulling her in for a warm hug. "I'm sorry, I'm just happy to see you."

"Me and all." Carla breathed out slowly with a combination of relief and comfort as she gently stroked Michelle's back. "I'm sorry I ran away."

Michelle pulled away so she could look Carla in the eye, her hands resting on her friend's shoulders.

"It's a lot for you to take in."

"Tell me about it. I've just been down the hospital, they did a bunch of tests, scans and what not, see if there's owt wrong with me brain."

"And?"

"I'm fine."

"Apart from the memory loss?"

"Apart from that, yeah."

"Did they say –"

"It might come back, it might not. Listen, Michelle, I need you to tell me everything."

"Everything?"

"Everything that's happened since, well, since the morning of mine and Paul's wedding day, I guess."

"That's twenty years, Car, it could take some time."

"You best get us a bottle of wine then," Carla grinned. "Make it a good one, ey?"

* * *

Carla drained the remains of the wine bottle into her glass and downed it in one gulp. Placing the wine glass back down on the table, she looked up at Michelle; stunned, shocked, speechless on hearing her life story so summarily laid out before her.

"Car?"

"I don't know what… I've been a busy girl."

Michelle laughed.

"You could say that." Michelle reached out and placed her hand gently over Carla's. "Are you okay?"

"No."

A tear slipped down Carla's cheek; she brushed it away unceremoniously. She needed to stay calm, to stay in control.

"What about Peter?"

It was one thing, Carla thought, to reconcile herself with what had happened in the past, but this strange man, this 'Peter', was a part of her present; a present that terrified her.

"He loves you, Car, give him a chance."

"What about me? How do I feel about him?"

"You love him."

"Even after everything you just told me? What he did? The lying? The cheating?"

"Yes."

"It doesn't sound like me to forgive so easily."

"Trust me, it wasn't easy. And, yes, for a long time I hated him for what he did to you and I would've fought tooth and nail to stop you getting back with him, but… he's proved himself, Carla. He really has. And he has learnt his lesson. He won't hurt you like that again."

"I lost a baby, Chelle," Carla's anguish, fresh again after years of healing, was clear for Michelle to see. "A baby."

"I know," Michelle murmured soothingly as she stroked Carla's forearm. "It was his baby too."

"I guess so."

Michelle watched Carla attempt to process twenty years of life, of love and loss, joy and grief, while simultaneously trying to ignore her wait staff, whose attempts at trying to gain her attention were becoming more over the top by the minute. Michelle decided she couldn't ignore them any longer.

"Darlin', I'm really sorry, but I need to get back to work."

"Oh, Chelle, of course you do. I've taken up enough of your time."

"I don't like leaving you like this."

"Don't worry about me, I'm a survivor, right?"

"Yes, you are."

But Carla was reluctant to let her only source of comfort and familiarity go so easily.

"Chelle," Carla grabbed onto Michelle's hand. "I don't know what to do, where to go."

"Why don't you go home? I know Peter's worried about you."

"How can it be my home if I'm living with a stranger?"

"Give it some time."

"Yeah," Carla scoffed. "Time."

Despite her misgivings, Carla rose to her feet, ready to face the unknown.

"Chelle…?"

Carla had one final question for her best friend.

"Yes?"

"Where do I live?"

* * *

Following Michelle's directions, Carla let herself into the flat she shared with Peter. She couldn't help but hope that he wasn't home, that she could have some time alone to get her bearings, to feel… to feel at home.

But he was there; pacing the floor, going out of his mind with worry, not knowing where Carla was or what she was up to.

"Hi."

Peter stopped in his tracks and spun around; his face quickly transformed from worry and shock to relief and happiness.

"Hey."

He strode to where Carla stood and pulled her in for a hug. But she remained tense, unsure of how to react to him, physically or emotionally. Quietly devastated by her reaction, he released her and stepped back, leaving a safe distance between them.

"Do you want a brew?"

"Yes, please."

Carla breathed a sigh of relief at the suggestion, at the break in the tension between them. She sat on the sofa and watched him, this man that she apparently loved, making her tea, and wondered if she could love him again.

* * *

"Why did they let you go if they don't know what's wrong with you?"

Peter sat next to Carla on the sofa, his body twisted towards her, his arm running along the top of the backrest, his hand hovering close to her shoulder.

"Well, there's nothing physically wrong with me. As far as they can tell. Not much else they can do, is there?"

"Fair enough."

"I'm sorry if you were worried."

"You could've let me know where you were."

"I know! I know! I'm sorry, okay?"

"Fine."

But it wasn't fine; Peter couldn't let it go.

"It's just…" Peter struggled to explain. "After everything that's happened this year… I worry about you."

Carla's heart softened a little on seeing Peter's distress.

"I know."

"No, you don't. If you knew what had happened –"

"Michelle told me."

"Oh."

He looked at her intently, trying to find the woman he'd woken up next to that morning, hiding somewhere in those intoxicating green-grey eyes.

"I thought I'd lost you then, I don't think I'd cope again."

He reached out and touched her face, gently stroking her cheek. She closed her eyes as his fingers grazed her skin softly, an unfamiliar thrill spreading through her body at his touch.

He leaned forward and kissed her lips softly, his lips parted ever so slightly, his hot breath in her mouth.

"No."

Carla pushed him away.

"I'm sorry."

"No, I'm sorry," Carla insisted sadly. "I know what we are to each other, what we're meant to be but, in my head, you're still a stranger."

"And what about your heart?"

"I don't know…what to trust, what to think, what to feel. I just, I don't know. I'm sorry."

"You don't need to apologise, this isn't your fault."

"It's not yours either."

They looked at each other sadly, mourning in silence for everything that, in the blink of an eye, they had lost.

"Why don't I cook us some dinner?" Peter suggested.

"I'm quite peckish now you mention it. Thanks."

Peter made his way to the kitchen where he took stock of the contents of their fridge and pantry.

"Stir fry okay?"

"Sounds great!" Carla followed Peter to the kitchen where she perched on one of the bar stools. "Pour us some wine while you're at it."

"I'm sorry, love, but we don't keep alcohol in the flat."

"Really? That doesn't sound like me."

"Well, umm… I'm an alcoholic."

"Oh… of course."

"And besides… you can't have any on your medication."

"Oops!"

"What do you mean, oops?"

"I, umm… I just shared a bottle of wine with Michelle. At the Bistro."

"Okay… Well, I'm sure one drink won't kill you. Just, umm, try not to make a habit of it, yeah?"

Carla merely rolled her eyes at him.

"Do you want a juice? Sparkling water?"

"Sparkling water, please."

"Coming right up."

"What medication?"

"Hmm…?"

"What medication am I on?"

"Well… antipsychotics for one."

"Right." Carla gulped down a mouthful of the sparkling water Peter had placed on the countertop in front of her. "Should I be taking something… now? I don't know…"

"You'll need to take some with your dinner. I'll write you a list of what you take and when you take it."

"How many drugs am I taking?"

"Like I said, there's the antipsychotics –"

"Because of my… psychosis?"

"Yeah. And then there's tablets for blood pressure and immuno-suppressants."

"They'll be for my… kidney?"

"That's right."

"Michelle told me about Aidan and how he donated one of his kidneys. It's weird… I mean, to me Aidan was just some random kid who used to live on the same estate as me. And now I've got a part of him inside me. A part of my brother! My dead brother!"

"I know, love. It's a lot to take in."

"So everyone keeps telling me."

Carla took another sip of her water, desperately wishing it was booze. Why on earth, Carla wondered, did I ever hook up with an alcoholic?

* * *

Carla placed her knife and fork down, side-by-side on the empty plate, her hunger sated, and looked appreciatively at Peter.

"Thanks for dinner. It was delicious."

"Don't mention it."

"I'll cook for you next time, okay?"

Peter couldn't help himself; he smirked at Carla's suggestion.

"What was that for?"

"Well, you're not exactly what you'd call gifted in the kitchen, love."

"I'm not?"

"Actually, you're pretty rubbish."

"Oh, thanks very much!"

"It's okay, your talents lie elsewhere."

Peter looked at Carla suggestively; an awkward silence fell, a silence that Carla was anxious to dispel.

"I heard that we, umm, we used to be married?"

"That's right."

"And then we got divorced?"

"Unfortunately."

"What happened?"

"Umm…" Peter struggled to know what to say, how much to say. "It was just one of those things, you know. Umm… The factory, it was doing really well so you were, umm, you were spending a lot of time at work and, umm, I guess we just drifted apart. No one's fault, just…"

"One of those things…?"

"Yeah."

Carla sat watching Peter for a moment, mulling over his explanation of their marriage breakdown. She silently willed him to say more, to provide a truthful explanation, but he remained silent.

"Thank you for dinner." Carla rose abruptly to her feet. "I think I'll have a quick shower before bed. Are you okay to clear up?"

"Umm… Yeah, of course. Why don't I, umm… I'll set myself up on the sofa."

"Why don't you do that."

Carla marched out of the room with no final look or word for Peter; no goodnight wish, no sweet dreams, nothing.

* * *

Carla stepped out of the shower and reached for the fluffy white towel hanging over the rail. As she patted herself down, she caught sight of herself in the mirror. Dropping the towel, she studied her naked body intently, running her fingers lightly over the surgical scars that littered her body. Michelle had told her about the kidney transplant, but there were other scars, unexplained scars. She wondered what they were from; whether they were from an accident, from a disease, or something else entirely.

She leaned in close to the mirror, peering at her face, at the lines that hadn't been there the last time she looked. She smiled, a wide crazy smile, and watched aghast at the crow's feet that crinkled into life at the corner of her eyes. When had that happened, she wondered; when had she gotten old?

After painstakingly completing her night-time beauty ritual, Carla wandered into the bedroom, to the double bed where she'd be sleeping alone that night. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she picked up the framed photograph of herself and Peter that adorned the bedside table. It was obviously a selfie, a snapshot of an intimate moment in time, a memento of a couple in love. Carla had no doubts about that; the couple in the photograph were very much in love.

* * *

Peter yawned widely and stretched, slowly warming up his stiff limbs after sleeping awkwardly on the sofa. As his mind as well as his body acclimatised to the new day, he gazed up at the ceiling and wondered whether Carla was awake. But the flat was silent, there was no sign of life besides his own. He glanced at the bedroom door and was surprised to see that it was open.

"Carla?"

Peter called out to her softly, but no answering call broke the silence that once more descended over the flat.

Peter struggled to his feet as quickly as his aching body would allow and tentatively approached the bedroom door.

_Tap tap_

Peter knocked softly on the bedroom door.

No answer.

He didn't want to invade Carla's privacy, but he was desperate to know whether she was awake, or even at home, so he gently pushed open the bedroom door and glanced inside. Not only wasn't Carla there, but the bed had been made, the covers smoothed down.

"Carla?"

Peter called out loudly this time, the silence providing confirmation that Carla had gone.

Striding back to the sofa, Peter picked up his mobile and dialled Carla's number.

* * *

Carla picked up her mobile; Peter was calling. She rejected the call and placed it back into her handbag. She knew he would be wondering where she was; knew she should have left him a note at the very least. But she'd had to get out of the flat, away from a daily life that had suddenly become so alien to her.

As she walked down the cobbles in the early morning mist, she had come across this oasis; the community garden and, after purchasing a coffee at the nearby café, she had sat down to ponder her situation in peace and tranquillity; in a little slice of nature smack bang in the middle of the urban wilderness.

She was so lost in her own thoughts that she didn't realise she was no longer alone until he was stood directly in front of her.

"Hi."

Carla merely stared up at him, yet another strange man, with a blank look on her face.

"I'm sorry, you're gonna have to clue me in. I have no idea who you are."

"I heard what happened," the man said, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth as he watched her intently.

"So… Do I know you?"

"Yeah, you do." He couldn't contain his smile any longer, or the fact that he was enjoying this little game.

"And…?"

"Nick."

"Nick Tilsley?"

"The one and same."

"Oh." Carla blushed, and cursed herself for it. "Michelle told me that we, you and me, used to, umm, be a 'thing'."

Nick sat down on the bench next to Carla and turned to her, a grin on his face.

"It was a little bit more than a 'thing'."

"It was. Until I messed it all up. Apparently, I did some pretty awful things to you."

"It was a long time ago."

"Even so, I'm sorry."

"Thanks."

"From what I've heard," Carla ventured an observation. "I sound like a bit of a cow."

Nick laughed.

"You're not."

"Going on the evidence…"

"Okay, maybe a little bit."

They both laughed this time, before Nick sought to reassure her.

"Look, you've made mistakes. Who hasn't? That doesn't change the fact that, stripping away all that other stuff, you are kind and warm and generous and funny. And beautiful."

Carla smiled at Nick; she didn't know what possessed her, she simply acted on instinct. She leaned forward and kissed him; he didn't pull back, he kissed her back.

Peter stood on the footpath outside the garden looking in, staring in horror as his girlfriend kissed the man he hated more than anyone else in the world. How could she? She knew how he felt about Nick. Then he remembered; she didn't know. She didn't care. He turned and stumbled blindly away from the gardens, his heart shattered.

Carla pulled away from Nick, her hand on his chest, a physical barrier between the two of them.

"I'm so sorry, I don't know why I did that."

"I'm sure it's very confusing for you," Nick observed.

"Can you stop being so nice to me."

"Why?"

"I dunno, so I don't pounce on you again."

"It was a mutual pounce," Nick reassured her.

Carla smiled.

"Thanks, but… I'm mortified. That was way out of line. Besides, I've got a boyfriend."

"I know."

"Do you know him? Peter. Peter Barlow."

"Very well."

"Apparently, him and me, we're soulmates."

"It certainly appears so."

"He cheated on me on our wedding day, you know?"

"No one's perfect."

"Since this thing happened to me, this memory thing, all he's done is lie to me. Tried to whitewash the past."

"You remember what I just said about mistakes."

"Hmm…" Carla was unconvinced. "They're some pretty big mistakes."

"You know what? I wouldn't blame you if you hated him and, you know, I'm not his biggest fan, but… I do believe he regrets what he's done in the past. And I believe that he loves you… more than anything."

"Does he?"

"I believe you love him as well."

"He's a stranger to me. A stranger that, right now, I don't particularly want to get to know."

"It'll take time."

"Time," Carla laughed cynically. "That's one thing I seem to have run out of."

* * *

Carla returned home to find Peter sat, arms folded, on the sofa, a face like thunder; he was sulking.

"Morning."

But Peter refused to answer her, or even acknowledge her presence.

"What's wrong with you?"

"I saw you," Peter glared at her as he flung his accusation across the room.

"You're gonna have to be a bit more specific."

"Don't act coy, you know exactly what I'm talking about! You! You and Nick flaming Tilsley! Snogging the faces off each other!"

"That's a bit of an exaggeration."

"Did you sleep with him?"

"Excuse me," Carla was shocked at the accusation. "Of course not!"

"Why? Why did you do it? Why did you kiss him? You're meant to be _my_ girlfriend!"

"I don't know!" Carla screamed her confession at Peter before sinking down onto the sofa next to him. "I don't know why I kissed him. I don't know anything at the moment. Actually, that's not true. There's one thing I do know."

"What's that?"

"Like I said, I don't know _why_ I kissed him, but I do know that I regret doing it. And that I'm sorry."

Peter looked at Carla, a desperate, pleading look in his eyes; this was all he could do, he didn't trust himself to speak.

"Nick said that you loved me. More than anything."

"I do."

"He said I loved you and all."

"You did."

"Don't say that."

"What?"

"Did. Past tense."

"It's true, isn't it?"

"I don't know. But… I'd like to find out."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you could ask me out for dinner."

"Like a date?"

"Yes, like a date. But, Peter, no more lies, okay?"

"I don't…" Peter shrugged.

"Tina."

"Oh."

"Did you really think Michelle wouldn't tell me everything?"

"No. Yes. I don't know. I'm sorry, I put my hands up, okay? I lied, I got caught out. I don't even know why I said it."

"Peter, you need to understand… I've lost my compass. Completely. I don't know who I can trust, what to believe. So, I need you to tell me the truth, even if you think the truth will hurt me. Because you know the truth will come out in the end, it always does."

"I know that, I do."

"You know, the easiest thing for me to do right now would be to walk away. From you. From us."

"What's stopping you?"

"Everyone I talk to tells me how much you love me –"

"I do love you."

"That we belong together."

"We do."

"Then don't lie to me."

"No more lies. I promise."


	2. Chapter 2

"I can't believe this was twenty years ago!"

Carla and Michelle sat side-by-side on Michelle's sofa, flicking through Carla and Paul's wedding album.

"Well, I can't believe you actually paid to get that perm!"

"Oi!" Carla nudged her best friend in the ribs. "That was the fashion back then."

"Hmm…" Michelle was unconvinced, conveniently ignoring her own nineties bouffant screaming at her incriminatingly from the pages of the album. "Don't matter anyway, you still looked stunning, you cow."

Carla's laughter quickly died away when she studied the faces in the photographs; the men that were no longer with them. Paul. Liam. Liam… She ran her finger over a photograph, tracing the outline of Liam's face.

"Poor Liam," Carla mused. "I can't believe that me and Liam were… What was I thinking, Chelle?"

"Don't ask me, babe. I still can't get my head around that one. Although…"

"What?"

"You do seem to have a thing for Connor men."

"Paul. Liam. That's two. Not exactly a pattern."

"And Ali…"

"Ali? As in your Alex, Ali?"

"Last year you two had a, umm… a fling."

"What? A fling fling?"

Michelle laughed. "Yes, a fling fling."

"You better watch out, Chelle, I'll be knocking on your door next."

Their combined laughter echoed joyfully around the room.

"But right now," Carla declared. "I need to go home and get ready."

"Oh, yeah? What are you up to?"

"Peter's taking me out on a date."

"Somewhere nice I hope?"

"The Bistro."

"For dinner?"

"Yeah, seven-thirty."

"You've got ages yet, what's the rush?"

Carla pulled some fashion magazines from her handbag and slapped them down onto the coffee table next to the wedding album.

"I don't get it, Car."

"In here," Carla tapped the wedding album. "This is where my sense of style and fashion is stuck. In the nineties. I had a perm, Chelle. A perm! I wore blue eyeshadow and lip liner ten shades darker than me lippy. That's just not gonna cut it in twenty-nineteen."

"So, the magazines are for…?"

"Studying what's in fashion now. I wanna make sure I'm up-to-date for tonight."

"You do know Peter won't care? He'll think you're gorgeous if you wear your pyjamas with yesterday's smudged makeup and greasy hair."

"Who says I wear pyjamas?"

* * *

Carla pulled out hanger after hanger, laying clothes in varying combinations on the bed; tops and skirts, or trousers, or maybe a dress. She stood back and pondered each 'look'; she wanted to look perfect for what was, essentially, her and Peter's first date.

Why so much black? Carla wondered about her wardrobe's colour palette and reflected that times had definitely changed since the nineties.

Her decision finally made, her chosen outfit hanging on the hook behind the bedroom door, Carla stared in dismay at the piles of rejected clothing that littered the bed. She was tempted to leave the mess in situ or even toss it onto the floor, but she thought better of it. Just in case, she decided, she needed to make sure the bedroom was tidy. Just in case…

* * *

"Oh, Peter," Ken exclaimed as he wandered into the kitchen of No. 1 Coronation Street and sat down at the table, primed to dedicate the next hour of his day to that evening's newspaper. "You don't want to choke the poor girl."

"What?" Peter stared at his dad, affronted by Ken's implication. "This is good stuff!" He held up the bottle of cologne he'd just applied liberally to his neck. "Cost fifty quid this did!"

"You spent fifty pounds on cologne?"

"Well, no. It was a present from Carla."

"Well, I'm sure she'll appreciate you making use of it."

Ken watched his son preen in front of the sideboard mirror, putting the final touches to his appearance.

"Tell me again, why couldn't you get ready at your flat?"

"Because, dad," Peter explained impatiently. "I want this to be like a proper date. You know, I go to her place to pick her up. Walk her home at the end of the night."

"And then…? I suppose you'll be a gentleman and come back here alone? Should I make up the spare bed for you?"

"I don't wanna jinx it, dad," Peter smirked. "But I, ah, I wouldn't wait up if I were you."

Ken shook his head indulgently; he knew better than to expect his son to return to No. 1 that night.

* * *

Peter breathed in deeply, exhaling with a loud sigh as he composed himself to ring his own doorbell. So much was riding on this date, he was desperate not to mess it up.

_Bzzz_

"Come up, Peter."

Peter smiled, a natural reflex on hearing Carla's voice through the intercom, and pushed open the security door.

When he reached the front door of his flat, his home, it was already ajar; Carla was expecting him. He walked through the door and there she was; she turned around to face him, his breath caught in his throat as his eyes soaked up the vision in front of him.

She was wearing a black jumpsuit; the wide legs pared in to a fitted waist, the top an asymmetrical one-shoulder affair. Her hair was styled in soft waves that fell forward over her one bare shoulder; her makeup was simple, a smoky eye paired with just a hint of blush pink lip gloss. A pair of nude strappy heels and a black satin clutch finished the look.

Carla blushed as Peter remained speechless, his eyes fixated on her, travelling from her head to her toe appreciatively.

"Are they for me?" Carla ventured; an attempt to break the silence.

"What?" Peter suddenly remembered the bunch of flowers he held clutched in his hands and offered them to Carla. "Yes, these are for you."

"Thank you," Carla took the flowers, a lavish bouquet of roses and lilies in shades of soft pink, from Peter's outstretched hands with a smile. "I'll just put them in some water."

Carla placed the flowers on the countertop and began her search for a vase; she opened and closed cupboards, one at a time, suddenly frustrated at encountering yet another unknown in her life. Without a word, Peter stepped into the kitchen and, opening one of the overhead cupboards, took down two vases.

"Which one?" Peter held the two vases in front of Carla, waiting for her decision.

"This one," Carla made her choice and watched as Peter filled the chosen vase with water and placed the flowers gently inside.

"Thanks."

Carla stood close to Peter and adjusted the various floral stems, arranging them into a balanced display. She turned to him, so close she could feel his breath on her cheek, the warmth of his body next to hers.

"They're beautiful."

Peter reached out and cupped Carla's face in the palm of his hand, gently stroking her cheek with his thumb. "Just like you."

He stared at her intently, but Carla couldn't quite meet his gaze. She didn't trust herself; she definitely didn't trust him.

"We should go," Carla's voice was barely a whisper; her eyes flickered up to meet his. "We're gonna be late."

Peter sighed. He didn't care if they were late; he didn't care if they didn't make it to the restaurant at all. But he knew this was important to Carla; so he smiled and, taking her hand in his, led her out of the flat. He would be patient and wait for her; he'd wait for her 'til the end of his days if that's what it took. He prayed it wouldn't take that long.

* * *

"That is so unfair!" Carla proclaimed to Peter, pushing her empty dinner plate away from her in faux disgust. "I can't believe I've sailed around the Caribbean, and I can't even remember it!"

"I guess we'll have to do it all over again," Peter suggested. "Make some new memories."

"We'll see."

"Listen, I gotta duck to the little boy's room," Peter said as he pushed his chair away from the table and rose to his feet. "Why don't you order us some dessert?"

"What do you want?"

"I dunno," Peter grinned at her cheekily. "Surprise me!"

As Peter walked away, Michelle, who had been keeping a keen eye on the progress of her best friend's date, hurried over to speak to Carla, desperate for the latest goss.

"So…?" Michelle began her interrogation of Carla as soon as she had slipped into the seat recently vacated by Peter. "How's it going?"

"It's good," Carla affirmed, a non-committal answer, before leaning in for a conspiratorial girly chat. "Actually, Chelle, it's more than good, it's… I don't know how to describe it. I feel… I dunno, comfortable, I guess is the word. At ease? Like I've known him for years."

"Well, darlin', you have known him for years."

"I know. I _know_ that. But I can't _remember_ that." Carla struggled to explain. "It's weird, I can't remember the events, but I remember the feelings. No, not the feelings… _A_ feeling? I don't know, I don't know what I mean."

"But it's going good?"

"Short answer, yes, it's going good."

Michelle reached out and momentarily placed her hand over Carla's, squeezing it gently.

"I'm happy for you."

"Thanks, Chelle," Carla smiled. "Hey, since you're here, can I order some dessert?"

"Sure." Michelle pulled out her order pad and held her pen, poised and ready to take Carla's order. "What did you want?"

"Umm…" Carla ran her finger down the list of desserts on the menu. "I'll have the… umm… baked berry cheesecake."

"With cream?"

"Lots of cream."

"And what about his nibs?"

"Umm… I dunno." Carla was at a loss. "Peter told me to surprise him."

"So…?"

"Well, is he expecting me to know what he likes?"

"He's a man. This is food. Trust me, whatever you choose, he'll like it."

"Michelle, you know what I mean."

"What? You think this is some kind of test?"

"No, of course not! I don't…" Carla sighed. "Just get him the sticky toffee pudding."

"What if he doesn't like it?" Michelle was being deliberately obtuse.

"Everybody likes sticky toffee pudding, Chelle. And if they don't, well, then I don't wanna know them."

"Good point," Michelle conceded.

"Now go away," Carla ordered Michelle; she had spotted Peter at the far side of the restaurant. "He's coming back."

Michelle couldn't help but smirk at the look on Carla's face; the self-conscious smile, the colour that rose to her cheeks on seeing Peter. Carla wouldn't admit it to herself, let alone to Michelle, the feeling that had swept across her body when Peter had re-entered the room; the speed at which her heart started beating, pounding against her ribcage, as she watched him stride towards her.

"Alright, Peter?" Michelle greeted Peter casually.

"I wasn't interrupting anything, was I?" Peter glanced from Michelle to Carla, curious to know if they'd been talking about him.

"She's ordered you a sticky toffee pudding," Michelle revealed.

"Mmm… good choice!"

* * *

"So…"

"So…"

Carla and Peter stood facing each other on the doorstep of their flat, their bodies almost, but not quite, touching.

"Thanks for dinner," Carla blushed; she felt like a teenager on her first ever date. "I had a great time."

"Me too."

Peter leaned towards Carla and grazed his lips lightly against hers. He pulled back, just for a moment, giving her a chance to stop him, before moving back in, his lips against her lips, his gentle pressure slowly giving way to rising passion. Carla responded, her mouth opened slightly, her lips moving against his, sucking gently on his lower lip as she pulled away with a breathy sigh, a demure smile.

"Night then."

"Night."

Carla unlocked the door and took a step inside before turning back to Peter, a cheeky grin on her face.

"What are you waiting for? An engraved invitation?"

* * *

Peter lowered his body over Carla's as she reclined on the sofa, his lips pressed against hers, his hands skimming the sides of her body. Carla reached up and, raking her fingers through Peter's hair, pulled him closer to her. Her lips parted, his tongue slipped between them; he glided his tongue against hers briefly. Wanting more, Carla ran her tongue along his lips, she gently bit his lip, before extending her tongue once more inside his mouth, sliding it down the length of his tongue and back.

Peter pushed against the fabric of Carla's top, wanting to feel her bare skin, to run his hands across her tummy and up to cup her breasts, to tweak her nipples. He fumbled as he searched for a point of entry; his frustration growing.

"What are you doing?" Carla asked breathlessly.

"These things… What do you call this thing? That you're wearing?"

"A jumpsuit?"

"Well, they're not exactly easy access, are they?"

Carla laughed; she gently pushed him off her and rose to her feet.

"Why don't we take this to the bedroom then?"

"Are you sure?"

Carla held out her hand.

"Come to bed with me, Peter."

With a grin, Peter took hold of her hand and eagerly followed her as she led him to the bedroom.

"Sit down."

Peter followed Carla's instruction and sat on the bed; he reached out to her, to wrap his arms around her waist, but she shook her head.

"Uh uh! Not yet."

Peter watched as Carla slowly undressed; unlocking for him the secrets of the jumpsuit. With a grin, she pulled on the side zip, all the way down. Her eyes locked onto his, she pushed the garment off her shoulder and let it fall to the floor, stepping out of it and kicking it to the side.

"Oh boy…" Peter's gaze dropped from Carla's eyes and travelled down, down, taking in inch by glorious inch the strapless lacy black teddy that adorned her body.

"I might need some help with this one."

She slowly turned on the spot until her back was to Peter, his vision now filled with black lace fastened with criss-crossing black satin ribbon and, as he discovered to his delight, a skimpy thong brief exposing to him her arse cheeks.

He couldn't resist; while one hand reached out and gently squeezed her arse, the other moved towards that space between her thighs; he slipped a finger underneath the flimsy scrap of fabric that constituted her thong and inserted it into her vagina; Carla gasped as he bent his finger into her walls, stimulating her from within.

Refocusing his attention on her teddy, Peter pulled on the satin ribbon and worked the laces loose just enough so that he could slip his hands between the teddy and her skin and push it down, over her breasts, her hips, her thighs, all the way down her legs and over her ankles.

Peter marvelled for a moment at the intoxicating beauty of her naked body displayed in front of him. Then, resting his hands on her hips, he pulled her towards him. He bent low over her body and kissed her tummy; loosing his tongue on her, he licked her tummy, then another kiss, another lick, all the while working his way up to where her breasts, proud and pert, jiggled at him enticingly.

As his hands glided over her back, down to her arse cheeks and back up, Peter's lips grazed against Carla's breasts, kissing them, losing himself in their softness, his tongue seeking out her nipples, flickering over them, licking them, sucking on them gently, until they were aroused, hard and erect, a stark contrast to the plump breasts rising like tiny mountains beneath them.

Carla's hands raked through Peter's hair, her fingernails running down his neck, digging into his shoulders, as his face was buried in her chest.

Wrapping his arms around her waist, Peter rose to his feet, lifting her into the air. By instinct, Carla wrapped her legs around his body; he spun her around and lowered her gently onto the bed, her buttocks perched on the very edge of the bed, her legs dangling over the side.

She watched him closely while he disrobed. His smart black shirt and trousers had soon been tossed in a crumpled heap on the floor; his boxers quickly followed and then he was stood in front of Carla, naked as the day he was born.

Carla couldn't help but take her time in looking Peter up and down; after all, this was the first time she'd seen him naked. The first time she remembered at any rate. Her eyes skimmed over his chest, his tattoos, over his tummy, and paused at his penis; she grinned in anticipation.

Peter lifted Carla's legs, one at a time, and raised them up, resting her ankles on his shoulders, one on each side. Looking down at her, his view was unobscured; her pussy lay exposed to his gaze, to his fingers, to his tongue.

He didn't waste any time; kneeling down by the side of the bed as if in worshipful attendance on a deity, he leaned forward and ran his tongue lightly over her clit. A gasp escaped Carla's lips as she drew in her breath sharply before releasing it in a long sigh. Peter licked her clit again, then again; around the base of her clit, then over the top, a haphazard approach at first, working her slowly into a state of arousal.

As her clit began to throb with desire, Peter switched gears and his tongue began stimulating her clit in a steady rhythm; at once fluttering over them rapidly, then increasing the pressure as he attacked it in a series of staccato hits, then flattening his tongue over it, pressing his tongue hard against it, then smoothly around and around, then over, backwards and forwards, repeating the pattern, disrupting the pattern, but always in a steadily quickening rhythm.

In the beginning, all the while frigging her clit with his tongue, Peter slipped one finger into her pussy, thrusting it gently in and out of her, before penetrating her again, this time with two fingers, in and out, in and around, against her walls, as she clenched her pussy around his fingers, tightening her grip on him before releasing, then gripping him again as his fingers glided in and out of her.

As Peter's relentless rhythmic attack on her clit continued, Carla's moans grew louder, her breath turned to panting, and her body writhed on the edge of the bed in ecstasy. Finding that sweet spot on her clit, he ran his tongue over it again and again, his fingers, three of them, then four, plunged into her pussy, in and out, the movement of her body ever more erratic as the growing intensity within her drove her wild with desire.

Until finally release came; her body shuddered as the waves swept over her, out through her core all the way down her limbs to the very tips of her fingers and her toes; the walls of her vagina spasmed uncontrollably around Peter's fingers, drenching him with her orgasmic juices.

Carla dropped her head back onto the bed, her lust temporarily sated. Peter crawled onto the bed, his legs straddling hers, and leaned down, kissing her softly on the lips.

"You know, I feel like that Madonna song."

Peter looked at her curiously.

"Oh yeah? Which one?"

"Like a virgin!" Carla laughed before breaking into song. "Touched for the very first time."

"You're such a dag."

"Well, it's kind of true," Carla explained as she wrapped her arms lovingly around Peter's neck and pulled him in for a quick, soft kiss. "I mean, this is kind of the first time for me. With you."

"I guess so."

"Come on."

Carla rose up from the bed and scrambled to her feet, ordering Peter to lay back against the pillows.

Peter watched her with a growing sense of dread, of impending doom. He'd been in this position so many times before with Carla over the years. He knew what she liked, what she didn't like, what would drive her wild and what would turn her off.

But this was a new Carla; this was a Carla that was essentially a stranger to him. He didn't know what this woman wanted; didn't know if she wanted him, or if she was forcing herself to be with him because she'd been told so many times they were in love that she had no choice but to go along with it.

What if she didn't enjoy it? What if he didn't satisfy her? What if she didn't come? Or worse, what if she faked it?

Such was Peter's train of thought, so all-consuming that he had no conscious understanding of what Carla was doing; he didn't appreciate that Carla was at that moment on her knees, her hands wrapped around his penis, a growing look of concern on her face.

"Peter?"

Peter looked down at Carla, wondering what was wrong. And then he saw it; his penis lying limp and lifeless, as far from an erection as he could get.

"I'll, umm…"

Peter took his cock in his hands and gently tugged at it; he wrapped his hand around it and tried to glide it up and down his shaft. But nothing was working; his erection remained elusive.

Carla lay down next to Peter and draped her arm over his chest, snuggling in close to him, while he worked with ever increasing frustration on his flaccid cock.

She reached down and gently but firmly took hold of his hand, moving it away from his penis.

"Stop it now, Peter."

"I can do it," Peter was determined to prove himself to her. "Just let me…"

"It's okay."

"It's not. Let go…"

Peter tried to pull his hand free from Carla's grip, but she refused to let go, holding it close to her heart while she reached out with her other hand and stroked his cheek gently, allowing her fingers to rake softly through his beard.

"Don't worry about it, okay? It happens."

"Not to me!"

He dared for the first time to look her in the eye; but he couldn't bear the look of pity he imagined he saw there. Wrapping his arms around her, he dropped his head, his cheek resting on her breast. She kissed his head, stroking his hair, and pulled him in close to her.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't. You've got nothing to be sorry for."

"I'm sorry, I can't…" Peter pulled away from Carla and scrambled to his feet. "I'm so sorry."

"Peter?!"

"I don't know what's wrong with me. I need to…"

Peter turned towards the bedroom door.

"Where are you going?"

"To the sofa," Peter explained matter-of-fact. "That's where I sleep, remember."

Carla crawled to the edge of the bed and reached out, taking hold of Peter's arm.

"Please stay with me."

"You want me to stay? After that?"

"Lie down next to me, Peter. I want you to hold me. And kiss me. Maybe stroke my hair a little."

Carla stared at him, silently pleading with him to stay.

"Okay," Peter nodded.

Carla quickly slipped under the bedcovers and held them up invitingly for Peter. He got in, lying down next to Carla and, wrapping his arms around her, thrilled at the feeling of her naked body pressed up against his, her skin against his skin, the heat of her body radiating towards him.

"This is nice," Peter sighed as he breathed in the scent of her, his nose buried in her hair, his leg draped over hers.

"I thought you were going to stroke my hair?"

She looked up at him; he down at her. He didn't see any disappointment in her eyes, no judgement, no ridicule of his failure to perform, simply a desire to be held, to be loved, to have her hair stroked.

* * *

The early morning sun peeked into Carla and Peter's bedroom through the curtains that hadn't been fully drawn the night before. As a glint of sunlight hit Peter's eyelids, he groaned softly and rolled over, moving him closer to Carla as she slept.

The movement of Peter's body having pushed her into a semi-awake state, Carla became slowly conscious of something hard pressing into her stomach. She reached down, trying to find this object, to move it out of the way.

And then she felt it; Peter's cock. Peter's erect cock! She took it gently in her hands, wrapping her fingers around the shaft, and moved her hand along the length of his cock all the way to its tip, then back down to its base. She felt his penis thicken and harden under her touch, the member throbbing in her hands.

Peter groaned in his sleep as his cock stood proudly erect, ready for action. He pulled Carla's body closer in to him, increasing the friction of his penis as it rubbed against her stomach.

"Peter," Carla whispered.

"Mmm…"

"Make love to me."

Peter rolled over onto Carla; instinctively, she parted her legs and wrapped them around his body, pulling his pelvis into hers, her feet pressing into his buttocks.

"Carla?"

"Baby, fuck me."

Peter moved his hips back and pushed forward towards Carla, into Carla, penetrating her deeply. Wrapped in a soft, warm, cocoon state of half-waking, Peter and Carla moved as if one body, melted into each other, thrusting in sync with each other, Peter forward as Carla rose up to meet him. Face-to-face, their lips met and locked together, their tongues encircling each other's tongues, their hot breath in each other's mouths. And when they came, they rested again, never fully waking, back into their dreams.

* * *

Carla yawned as she slowly approached consciousness; the bedroom now bathed in bright light, the sun already high up in the sky.

"Morning," Peter greeted her in his low, resonant voice.

"Good morning," Carla smiled up at him, reaching to place a soft kiss on his lips. "What time is it?"

"Late."

"Have I made you late for work?"

"Yes," Peter was matter-of-fact. "But I don't care, I'd rather be here with you."

"Aww, baby!" Carla nestled her body close to Peter's and traced imaginary shapes over his chest.

"I had this dream last night," Peter recounted.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Well, at least I think it was a dream."

"What was it about?"

"You and me. In this bed. Making love."

Carla looked up at Peter curiously.

"That wasn't a dream, baby."

"So…we…?"

"We did. And before you ask, yes, it was amazing."

Peter kissed Carla softly before breathing a sigh of relief.

"Thank goodness we got that out of the way."

Carla laughed. "What does that mean?"

"After last night's disaster."

"Nothing that happened last night was a disaster. It just happened. If anything, it made me feel closer to you."

"What?" Peter was incredulous.

"I know, it doesn't make sense but… there you have it."

"So… what does that mean? For us?"

"It means we had amazing sex."

"And…?"

"I hope we have lots of amazing sex in the future."

"That's it?"

"Well, we've only been on one official date."

"Right." Peter couldn't hide his disappointment.

"Hey!" Carla was beginning to understand Peter's moods. "No sulking, okay?"

"I'm not… Fine."

"Let's just enjoy us getting to know each other again."

"I already know you."

"But I don't know you. I'm sorry, but that's how it is. My mind has forgotten us, our past, who we are. And I don't know if I'm ever going to remember. So all those memories, all that knowledge of who you are, who we are together, I need to build that up again. And I'm willing to do that. No, I want to do that. Because, yeah, my mind has forgotten, but my heart, in some weird way, my heart remembers everything."

"So, you're listening to your heart?"

"Yes. And do you know what my heart is telling me right now?"

"What?"

"It's saying I would love Peter to make me a coffee."

"You…"

"I don't make the rules."

"Whatever you want, my love."


End file.
